


carter, you're my favorite

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Sparring, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Workout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 08:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15433212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: He bends down, fingers to toes, grimacing at the pop of his hips and the pull in his hamstrings–he’s so damn tight all over. There’s a pause behind him where there should have been Carter-babble, and he looks up from his bent-over position only to catch Carter’s eyes lingering on his six.The sweatpants he’s wearing pull nicely over his hips and buttocks and it’s flattering to have someone as, well, hot and young as Cater looking at him like he’s got something worth looking at.She blushes, but doesn’t meet his eyes as he stands. He can’t help but cock his hip slightly, his chest puffing out slightly–it feels good to peacock a little for her, feels good to have her eyes on him.





	carter, you're my favorite

**Author's Note:**

> prompted on tumblr as "workout + unresolved sexual tension"

t’s been two weeks since the za’tarc incident; two weeks since they decided to leave it in the room and patch up a crumbling barrier around their hearts. 

He thinks he used to be good at this: shielding his heart away, keeping everyone at arm’s length, treating life with irreverence. And then Samantha Carter settled beneath his skin, slipped past his mask and peered inside. 

Leaving it in the room seems clear: no intentional touches, no overly-friendly questions, no longing glances and those duck-of-the-head smiles. Except Jack really,  _really_ , hates being told what to do and he didn’t know this about her, but apparently Sam is a fan of bending the rules without breaking them and that’s the only explanation for their current situation. 

It’s early in the morning when he stumbles into the on-base gym; the sun outside not even risen and the coffee still freshly percolated in the commissary downstairs. The gym smells like sweat and anti-septic and it’s blissfully empty–except for a certain blue-eyed Major in the corner, headphones in and weights firmly in either hand, lifting each 15-pound weight over and over again, biceps flexing and relaxing with each movement.

She catches his eye in the mirror before her and grins, setting the weights on the rack and pulling her headphones from her ears. “Morning, sir,” she says brightly. She always was a morning person. 

He grunts at her, eyeing the sweat dripping down her arms and dotting her hairline. The urge to press her to the floor next to that mirror strikes him and he swallows down the thought of what the combination of her sweat and skin would taste like against his tongue. 

“I’m supposed to give you a message, sir,” she says, coming to stand beside him outside the ring of sparring mats. “Teal’c got pulled onto SG-7′s mission an hour or so ago. He said to tell you he wouldn’t be able to make your sparring session this morning.” She pauses and then adds, “But, you know, with more eyebrow raising and tilting.”

She’s in a good mood, a playful mood, eyes alight and blood thrumming beneath her veins, evidence of a fast-paced workout. He wishes he had arrived a little earlier to see her in full form. He drops his water bottle and towel to the ground, raising his hands up over his head and stretching his arms and shoulders, loosening his muscles. 

“Probably volunteered for the mission to avoid getting his Jaffa-ass whooped again.”

It’s a lie and they both know it. Teal’c knocks O’Neill to the ground more times than not and everyone on base knows it. Carter ducks her head to hide her smile and agrees good-naturedly, “Yes, sir.”

He pops his neck and grins at her, her playful mood rubbing off on her and making him press buttons he would normally steer clear of. “What’s with the tone, Carter?”

He bends down, fingers to toes, grimacing at the pop of his hips and the pull in his hamstrings–he’s so damn tight all over. There’s a pause behind him where there should have been Carter-babble, and he looks up from his bent-over position only to catch Carter’s eyes lingering on his six. 

The sweatpants he’s wearing pull nicely over his hips and buttocks and it’s flattering to have someone as, well,  _hot_  and young as Cater looking at him like he’s got something worth looking at. 

She blushes, but doesn’t meet his eyes as he stands. He can’t help but cock his hip slightly, his chest puffing out slightly–it feels good to peacock a little for her, feels good to have her eyes on him. 

To her credit, her eyes only briefly run over his form before finally meeting his eyes. “Well, it’s just that, everyone on base knows Teal’c wins all of your sparring rounds. Sir,” she adds hastily, catching sight of his frown.

“That’s because I  _let_  him knock me around, Carter. What would all his little Jaffa buddies say if they found out a lowly Tau’ri knocked him around?”

She nods placatingly, balling up her headphones in her hand and taking a step back. “I’m sure Teal’c appreciates that, sir. I’ll just leave you to your workout. See you at the briefing?”

He hesitates. “Sure, unless…” 

“Unless?”

Hooking a thumb over his shoulder and pointing at the vinyl-covered sparring mats, he offers her a tentative grin. “Unless you wanna stay and go a few rounds? Let me prove you and the base rumor mill wrong about my boxing prowess?”

It comes out a lot more flirtatious than he means and she takes it as such, the blush on her cheeks darkening and spreading down her neck. Heat spreads through his chest and the  _thing_  between them lingers in the air–heavy and oppressive and thick, hot and almost tangible. 

He swallows hard and thinks about going a few rounds with Samantha Carter. As distracted as he is by the thought of her muscles straining beneath her skin as she jabs out at him; long, lean legs carrying her around the perimeter of the mats; eyes dancing and alight with the thrill of a fight, the opportunity to knock down a superior officer, he’s more distracted by the possibilities of he and Sam sparring.

He considers the possibility of her knocking him off his feet, going in for the final punch and straddling his hips. He thinks about the feel of her body against his, their skin slick with sweat, his hands on her hips and her face hovering over his. He decides her lips would taste salty with sweat but it’d be intoxicating, enough to make him chase the taste, enough to roll her beneath him and settle between her legs and find out if the rest of her skin tastes as good. 

Judging from the dark look in he eyes, the rapid rise and fall of her chest that has nothing to do with her workout, and the way her teeth are sunken into her bottom lip, he knows he isn’t the only one imagining how a sparring session between them may go.

She takes in a breath, deep and shuddering, and he can see the regret etched into the planes of her face. “I should really get in a few hours in the lab before the briefing, sir.”

He wonders if he’s hearing an extra emphasis on  _sir_  or if she’s trying to remind him exactly why they shouldn’t. It doesn’t stop him from feeling disappointed, though–a sharp pang of regret and longing that he’s unfortunately becoming accustomed to when it comes to Samantha Carter. 

He nods at her, shrugs and plays it off. “Yeah, no, of course. I just–”

“If you’d like,” she interrupts, grinning softly at him, the spark of playfulness back in her eye. “I can still tell everyone on base you wiped the floor with me, sir.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I knew you were my favorite, Carter.”

She beams at him and wishes him luck with the rest of his workout, collects her gear, and, with a last look over her shoulder, disappears around the corner and into the women’s locker room connected to the gym. 

His eyes caress her retreating form, linger on her back and buttocks, before returning his attention to the weight rack and bench. 

They’re were really gonna need a bigger room with a stronger door if they were going to make it to ‘someday’ with their reputation and honor intact.


End file.
